


A Study of Statistics

by GreedIsGreen



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Older Man/Younger Woman, Smut, This is the fluffiest goddamn fucking thing i've ever written and i love it, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 06:07:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9706409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreedIsGreen/pseuds/GreedIsGreen
Summary: There are no Starks. No Lannisters. Just two people who make a connection, and have an unlikely adventure.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is fucking fluff at its fucking fluffiest. Petyr and Sansa are so far from canon it's ridic, but I don't fucking care. It was just so much fun to write something lighthearted for these two. If you have come seeking dark and twisty, you're in the wrong V-day fic. You have been warned.

Solitude. That’s all Sansa wanted on this particular day. Several of her friends had offered to set her up, but she wasn't quite so desperate that she would accept a blind date on Valentine's Day. And so what if she was single? Is that a crime? After dealing with the asshats of her youth, she welcomed the opportunity to find herself, and do her own thing for once. 

That's how she found herself here. Once the neighbors in the apartment next door began their early celebration for true, they became quite _audible_ in their affections. As soon as the springs started sproinging and the pounding began on the walls, Sansa decided to find a quiet place to bide her time until they had exhausted their efforts. 

The bookstore was just the distraction she needed. Sansa could drown herself in Jane Austen and Charlotte Brontë, and sigh longingly at the kind of unrequited love that breaks hearts and destroys lives. She often wondered whether that sort of innate passion really existed or whether it was all faerie tales. 

Quite a collection of books made their way into her arms. It was as she was examining the cover of a book entitled _Deathless_ at the end of the aisle, that she heard the laughter of children careen by, and someone came crashing into her from behind, sending her and her literary companions flying. 

A hand came quickly down to take her arm, and help her up. “Oh my god! I am so sorry,” came a quiet lilting, decidedly masculine, voice. “I was trying to avoid the path of those wildlings, and managed to throttle you instead.”

Sansa was so busy gathering herself off the ground, and straightening out her skirt, that she hadn't looked up. “It’s okay,” she began as her head raised to address the concerned gentleman. “I-” She froze in shock. 

“Yes?” he asked expectantly. 

Sansa blinked herself back to cognition. She couldn't very well tell him he had the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen, and shook her head to recover her tongue. “It’s nothing. I'm fine,” she finally said. 

The man’s lips tilted in a hesitant smile, and spied the mess of books around her feet. Pointing to the wreckage, “Well, let me help you pick these up.” At that, he bent over and moved to gather the assortment of literature that she had planned to substitute for her love life. 

He helped her pile the books up, one by one, until a particular volume caught his attention. “Jane Eyre? Have you read it?” he asked.

Rising with the stack in hand Sansa said, “Yeah. It's one of my favorites, but I lost my copy years ago.”

“Same. Not the losing my copy part; the favorite part. I always tear up when Helen dies," He said examining the cover.

“It’s the realization that she's lost one of the last shreds of her innocence,” Sansa imparted. 

“Yes. Exactly.” The man looked her over queerly, as if looking for some sort of recognition. “This is going to sound so contrived, but are you hungry? Can I take you to dinner?”

Sansa hesitated, “Oh, I… umm-”

“No, sorry, that came totally-”

“No, I mean, yes. I am hungry.” She finally answered, and smiled shyly at him.

“Really?" He said with a raise of his brows. "I mean, good. _Good_.” He put one hand in his pocket and gestured with his other while holding the book. “There's a burger place just down the street. Or if you don't want burg-”

“Burgers are great. I love burgers!” _I love burgers?_ Sansa wanted to take the words back the second they escaped her mouth. She inwardly cringed. 

The man smiled and dipped his head adorably. Sansa would have swooned were swooning still a thing. 

“Perfect,” he said. “I just realized, I haven't even introduced myself.” He held out his hand. “I’m-”

“Actually, can we not?” Sansa blurted.

“What? You don't want to have din-”

“No. NO. That's not it. It’s just. I like the mystery," she assured him. It was a silly fantasy she'd had. Meeting a handsome stranger, never knowing his name, but suffering with that longing that could span generations were time to permit. She finally had an opportunity to indulge, and he seemed as good a candidate as any.

He bit his lip and nodded. “Okay. I can get behind that. But aren't you worried I'm some sort of sexual deviant luring you to my dungeon?” he joked.

“Do you have a dungeon?” she asked facetiously.

“No," he said with a grin.

“And are you a sexual deviant?” she asked with raise of her brow.

He pursed his lips playfully and bit at the inside corner of his mouth. “That remains to be seen.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, and was fairly certain her face went fifty shades of red at his obvious innuendo, but oh how she liked it. 

The man took a step closer, placing the book he'd been holding on the pile in her arms. “Well, how about this? I'm going to purchase my books, and, in the name of safety, I will meet you there. If you don't show up; no harm, no foul.”

Sansa nodded her head. 

“Okay.” He grab his own pile from where they sat, and started to make his way towards the front. 

Suddenly, Sansa realized he'd forgotten to give her the name of the restaurant. “Hey, wait. What's the name of the burger joint?” she called out.

He turned with a big grin on his face, “The Dive. It's about two blocks up this side of street, on the corner. You can't miss it.” He continued his trek taking slow measured steps backward, eyes sparkling. “I'll meet you there in half an hour.”

Sansa watched his retreating form while biting her lower lip. It only just occurred to her as the words left her mouth that he'd set a trap to gauge her interest. The incorrigible man had the upper hand for the moment, and she thought it might be fun to wrest it back. 

Sansa lingered for a bit longer in the store. She didn't want to seem too eager by following him immediately, but the thought was ever present in her mind. As she absentmindedly flipped through those medieval fantasy books everyone kept raving about, she tried to remember his face. He wasn't someone she would normally have been attracted to. He was quite a bit older for one, but the wisps of grey that streaked his dark hair gave him a very dignified appearance — handsome even. And where her exes were all tall and broad, he was short and lean. But it was those eyes that really reeled her in. They were bright with intelligence, and flashed between a vivid green and a slate grey depending on the light. In a way, they reminded her of the sentinels that grew around her childhood home, and the thought was comforting. 

Eventually, Sansa completed her purchases, and made her way down the street. It was unusually warm for a February, and the snow drifts that had been piled at the sides of the road were melting down. The water that pooled on the sidewalk caused her boots to squelch and splash with each step she took, creating an odd cadence with the rush of cars. 

Just ahead, Sansa spotted her destination, and took a moment of pause. Was she really doing this? Meeting someone she just met for dinner? Oddly, it felt like the most interesting prospect she’d entertained in years. After the litany of blind dates she’d been set up on by her supposed friends, she had begun to doubt they knew her at all. At least, if this man was a disappointment, it would only be herself to blame. 

Squaring her shoulders, Sansa readjusted her purse, smoothed out the lines of her dress, and grabbed a look at her reflection in the window of the store in front of her. After smoothing down a few fly-aways in her hair, and tucking one side of her auburn locks behind an ear, she made her way inside the restaurant. 

It wasn't as small as it appeared from the outside. The entrance was narrow, but once inside the floor gave way to a fairly open and lengthy room, filled on both sides with booths, and even a small bar at the back. Sansa looked around expectantly before spying her date waving his arm near a corner booth in the back. Sansa smiled in recognition and made her way back. 

He stood just as she approached the table, and gestured for her to take whichever seat she desired.

“I'm glad you decided to join me.” He said sitting opposite her.

She leaned back in the booth. “Did you really doubt that I would?”

He gave a silent laugh, and shook his head. “No, but occasionally people surprise me.”

“You act as though you can predict people's actions," Sansa said incredulously.

“I can — to an extent.”

Sansa eyed him doubtfully. 

“I can," he insisted. "It's part of my job. I'm an actuary. A decent chunk of my profession is predicting risk and behavior. There's a statistical side to it, but on an individual level, there’s quite a bit of gut involved.”

“Hmmm," she said skeptically. "Prove it.”

He leaned forward. “What would you have me do?”

“I don't know.” Sansa laughed and looked around the room. “The people in the booth over there. Long time couple, new love, blind date, or just friends.”

He looked at her with amusement in his eyes. “That's not how it works.”

“Well, humor me," she enthused, throwing her hands in a makeshift plea.

He sighed, and made a long examination of them. “The man on the right is nervous.” He pointed discreetly. “See his leg bouncing under the table. There may as well be house music playing in here.” He quipped. “But look at his partner. Completely cool. He’s holding his hand, and joking with him like it's any other night, but it's Valentine's Day. I think someone is about to propose.” Sansa noticed how his eyes twinkled at his assessment, and thought it very becoming. 

“That's your prediction, hmm?” she said dubiously.

“It is," he reaffirmed.

“I guess we’ll need to stick around and find out," she said as she grabbed the menu.

“All night if necessary?” He asked with a quirk of his brow. 

Sansa didn't respond, only held back a smile and lowered her eyes to peruse the food selection. The waitress came by shortly to take their orders, and their food followed soon after. 

Sansa had to admit, though the restaurant's name didn't instill much confidence, the food was amazing. And as they spoke between bites of burger and sips of a local craft beer, she became more and more entranced by the workings of this man's mind. The discussion started off where they left off in the bookstore with the tragic love affair of Jane Eyre, then traversed to the insanity of American politics, and somehow landed on opera, where Sansa expressed her undying affection for The Magic Flute and her teensy obsession with the Queen of the Night. It was easily the best conversation she’d had in a long time, and by the time all the food was consumed, she was thoroughly smitten. 

Only an hour had passed, and they were each on their second beer, when suddenly the music that had suffused the room came to a stop, and a nervous voice asked for the attention of the patrons. Sansa looked around, and found the nervous man from before, dropping to one knee. She couldn't contain the giddy feeling bubbling up, and tapped excitedly on her date’s hand to grab his attention, and, in return, felt as his hand gently grip at her own to stop it. When she finally looked back to him, his expression was so filled with longing that it made her breath hitch. 

She blinked and swallowed the lump in her throat. “You were right.”

He blinked. “I usually am.”

“That must make life very boring," she said, running her thumb over the back of his hand.

“On the contrary, it makes the little surprises that pop up all the more exciting," he countered.

Sansa couldn't escape the thought that he was referring to her as one of those _'little surprises'_ , and flushed a bright pink before looking at the newly engaged couple. 

“We should probably get out of here," he intoned casually. "I'm sure someone else would like to eat tonight.”

Sansa relished in the smile that played on his lips, then nodded her agreement.

While he paid the ticket, Sansa gathered her things and stepped outside. The chill of the night air brought gooseflesh to the surface of her skin, and when she felt the heat of her date’s hand sink into the small of her back as he joined her, she shivered. 

“I really had a good time,” Sansa said glancing up from her feet. 

“So did I,” he said. “I know that you said no names, but I'd really like to see you again.”

"Me, too." Sansa bit her lip, and stuck out her hand. “I'm Sansa.”

He smiled a wide grin, and took her hand kissed it softly, before introducing himself. “Petyr.”

“Well, Petyr, I should probably get going. It's getting late.”

“Yeah," he said, letting go of her hand. "Of course. It is a week night. I'd like to call you, if I may.” 

Sansa grinned and dug the bookstore receipt out of her bag, scribbling her number on it before inserting it into his palm. "Just make sure to avoid mornings. I'm not the most pleasant person when my sleep is disturbed,' she japed.

"I think I can remember that," he said.

"I'll see you again soon, then." Sansa hesitated a moment, and turned, but before she could take a step, he quickly stepped around in front of her with his hands held out. 

“Don't go.”

Sansa tilted her head at him. 

“Not now. You're brilliant, and I don't want the evening to end just yet. Would you be willing to walk with me for awhile?" 

"Just walk?" she questioned.

Petyr nodded affirmatively.

Sansa let out a shaky breath she’d been holding, and sidled up to him. She hadn't wanted to leave either, but didn't want to seem too forward. She couldn't help the giant smile that broke out on her face though, when she realized she had won the upper hand back. 

They walked for a few minutes before Petyr broke the ice. “So, Sansa, have you ever broken the law?”

“Oh god, you are a sexual deviant!” she mocked and made to leave. He laughed boisterously and grabbed her around her waist from behind, and pulled her back the way they were going, setting her down. 

“That's not why I'm asking. I just want to study your character," he stated.

“Study my character?” She harrumphed. “The answer is no.”

“Never?” he said disbelieving. 

“Well, maybe not never,” she conceded. “I stole a blouse in a dare back in high school.”

“Ah ha!” Petyr cried as he rounded on her. 

“No, no, no, no!" She threw her hands on his forearm placatingly. "Let me finish!" she laughed. "I felt so guilty about it, I snuck it back into the store and paid for it a week later.”

“So you got the cred with your friends without the guilty conscience. Very sneaky. I'm impressed.”

“What about you?” she said with a leer.

“Would you believe that I toppled a foreign government?”he asked jovially.

“Petyr, you did not," she said rolling her eyes.

“And that's exactly what you'll say to them when they come asking.” He grinned.

Sansa laughed loudly at his shamelessness. 

“No, but for real," he continued. "I had a bit of a misspent youth. I stole a car when I was fifteen.”

“Really? Why?” she asked curiously.

“I was trying to impress a girl. Needless to say, it didn't work as planned. Thankfully, since I was underage my record was wiped, otherwise I wouldn't be able to have the job I do.”

Sansa nodded in understanding. 

“And here we are," he said as he stopped suddenly.

“Hmm?” Sansa looked around and saw some sort of private ball happening in the building across the street. 

“Come on.” Petyr took her hand and guided her quickly past the four lane traffic, and around the corner of the building. 

“Petyr, what are you doing?” she giggled.

“I want to dance with you, so I'm taking my princess to a ball," he explained.

“You can't be serious. I'm not even dressed," she said gesturing to her far too casual outfit.

Petyr raked her over suggestively. “That could present a problem, but I think I can make us both presentable.”

With those words, Petyr dragged Sansa into the light of a nearby street lamp, and began to prune pieces of her clothing away until she was in nothing but her simple black dress, tights, and boots. 

“Hmm… almost there. Take off your tights," he suggested.

“You have got to be kidding me," she said suspiciously.

He grinned over at her as he tucked the discarded clothing articles into her bag, and straightened out his suit jacket. “Do you trust me?”

“Right now? Not so much," she said exasperated.

“Come on." Petyr held her shoulders. "Indulge in a little criminal trespassing with me,” he teased. 

Reluctantly, Sansa removed her boots and wiggled out of the tights. Petyr leaned down, and helped her put the boots back on, but Sansa couldn't help admiring the view of him on his knees before her. 

He stepped back and looked her over again. 

“Perfect.” He grabbed all their things and ran to the back door, where he stashed their belongings behind a dumpster before he pulled out a key. 

She crossed her arms. “Wait a second. If you have a key, then why are we going through the back door?” 

“Do you have an invitation I don't know about?” He asked reclining his head and raising his brow. 

Sansa grumbled her frustration. She’d never done anything this reckless before, and while it was thrilling, it also created knots she’d rather not have in her stomach. 

The door opened, Petyr dipped his head inside to check for staff and security. When none made their appearance, he shuffled Sansa in, and swiftly led her down the hall towards the ballroom. 

The sounds of an orchestra playing became louder and louder as Petyr directed them to an unused side door of the ballroom. 

Placing his hands on her shoulders he said, “Just hold your chin up, and act like you belong. These people respect confidence, and if you can do that, we'll be fine.”

“Oh my god. Is your advice to me right now seriously fake it ‘til I make it?” Sansa asked incredulously with wide eyes. 

Petyr grinned widely with dimples she hadn't noticed before making him look younger than his years, and he opened the entrance, ushering them quickly inside without answering. He straightened his black jacket, and took Sansa's arm in his. “Back straight, chin up,” he whispered as he led her forward. 

A waiter passed through with champagne, and Petyr lifted two glasses and passed one her way. 

Sansa was so nervous that it took her a moment to assess the scene of decadence before them. When she finally dared to look at more than just Petyr, her breath escaped her. 

The ceiling of the ballroom had to be fifty feet high, and there were murals of cherubs and maidens and gentlemen is all their finery depicted between rafters and mouldings with fine golden filigree. In the very center, there was a domed skylight, and she could see the gathering clouds as they floated just outside. Giant columns rose from floor to ceiling that must have been at least ten feet around each, and beautiful white marble floors contrasted starkly against the rich, crimson walls. It looked like something she would have heard about in a faerie tale. 

Sansa was so captivated by the glorious surrounding that she failed to notice the look of adoration Petyr grazed over her. 

A waltz began to play, and with all courtesy, Petyr stepped before her, extending his palm. “May I have this dance, my Lady?”

Sansa giggled. “You may, my Lord.”

They both abandoned their champagne flutes, and took a position at the edge of the dance floor. 

Petyr had just placed his hand on her hip, and positioned her hand in his own. “Do you actually know how to waltz?” Sansa asked.

“Not a clue,” he countered with a smirk. 

Sansa prepared herself for embarrassment, but as soon as he swept her onto the dance floor, she realized he was a horrible liar. Where in the world an actuary learned to waltz, she didn't know, but she couldn't help but be roused. As they swirled around the dance floor, it seemed he held her closer and closer until the room seemed to spin around them rather than they around it. The world was falling away, and all she could see were those grey-green pools that first stole her breath. He was a sorcerer weaving his spells around her until she was utterly and completely enchanted. 

When the song came to an end, Petyr spun her gracefully back towards the threshold they’d entered. 

“I'm afraid we'll have to cut our dance card short, my dear," he whispered into her ear.

At Sansa’s questioning glance, he tilted his head back from whence they came, and she saw two security guards slowly headed their way. 

“Are you good to run in those?” he asked, indicating her shoes. 

“Do I have a choice?”

“No,” he threw back, and they were soon careening out the door, sprinting towards the exit hand in hand, laughing excitedly all the while. 

The security guards in their slick soled oxfords were no match against Petyr and Sansa in their street shoes. They ran as fast as they could, and when Sansa glanced over her shoulder, she saw as the security team slipped and bounded into the wall at a sharp turn they’d taken. Soon enough, she and Petyr were vaulting through the exit. Petyr swooped down to grab their things, and they ran down the alleyway and beyond, not stopping until their chests were heaving and legs were burning from the effort. 

Petyr was leaning against a wall, still holding her hand, bent over laughing and Sansa laughed with him. This was the most fun she had had in years, and she never wanted it to end. 

Petyr's breathing soon evened out, and he watched Sansa as she let her own amusement fade. She only saw his eyes darken in the moment before he pulled her to him, crashing his mouth over her own, burying his free hand into the hair at the nape of her neck.

Time seemed to move without her knowledge, and soon Sansa found herself being pushed over the threshold of a strange man's apartment. Petyr's lips left her's only to lick, bite, and caress the pale column of her throat, and his hands scorched fiery trails over her beleaguered skin.

Something at the back of Sansa's mind finally pricked her into consciousness. "I-I've never done this before," she breathed. "Gone home with someone I barely know."

Petyr's hands came to rest on her jaw, as he said, "Me neither." His mouth slashed over her own, and his tongue delved inside to tease. Sansa moulded her body to his, feeling the exquisite heat of him through her simple dress.

They stumbled into the bedroom, discarding some articles of clothing, ripping a few more unfortunate ones off, until they tumbled into bed, naked and wanting. Petyr's fingers dipped between her legs to rub at her clit, and he cursed. "Fuck! You're so wet."

Sansa felt her need coiling deep inside, as his fingers worked over her. She wanted him. She needed him to quell this delicious ache that was close to devouring her. She raked her nails over his back as he ground himself insistently against her thigh. "Do you-" she moaned. "Do you have something?"

Petyr paused, and his whole demeanor sagged as he threw himself on his back. "Fuck me, I don't."

Sansa sat up, horny and overwrought and not in the mood for his jokes. "If you are fucking with me, Petyr, I _will_ kill you."

"I'm not," he sighed. "I haven't had sex in three years."

Sansa lay back, naked, horny, defeated, and contemplated their options.

"How many partners have you had?" she spitballed.

"What?" He asked looking over at her.

"You're an actuary. Let's do the math," she insisted.

"Two," he replied. 

"Two?" she asked disbelieving.

"Yes, two. Why is that so hard to believe?" He said sitting up on his elbow to face her.

"Well, you did just bring me home." She shrugged.

"Special circumstances, thank you," he said with annoyance as he lay back down.

"Fine, two," she said. "And I've only been with one," she said sheepishly, though she hardly counted it given how short it lasted. "We were both virgins, and it was only the once. I've been tested, and I know I'm healthy. What about you?"

He sighed in aggravation at this exercise. "Both were virgins. The second was a long term on again off again relationship. We both tested clean before the marriage, and I'm fairly certain she didn't stray."

"Wait," Sansa said sitting up. "You were married?"

"Does it matter?" he asked.

"That depends. Are you still married?"

"No," he growled. "Jesus Christ this hard on is going to be the death of me," he moaned as he rubbed his hands over his face.

Sansa finally glanced down to see a juggernaut of an erection saluting her from between his legs, and her mouth went dry.

"I'm on birth control," she blurted out, and Petyr yanked her down on top of him.

"You are trying to kill me," he accused.

"I'm not," she insisted as she playfully slapped his chest. "I'm just working out the math of either of us catching something if we go forward without protection."

"Given our sexual histories, the likelihood of infidelity, and the fact that we've both tested clean, our chances of catching something are statistically insignificant," he assuaged.

"Good enough for me," she said as their mouths crashed once more, and he rolled her over.

Petyr wasted no time. Before Sansa could catch her breath, he had parted her legs, and thrust between them, groaning, filling her with every inch of his straining cock. 

"Fuck, Petyr," she moaned, hiking her legs higher so he could hit deeper.

His hips rocked against her, nudging at the apex of her thighs, grinding harshly against the center of her pleasure, as his lips, tongue, and teeth tortured the generous mound of her breasts, the rise of her clavicle, the pulse at her throat. 

Each push inside of her stoked a fire that she'd only ever serviced herself via mechanical intervention. With Petyr buried deep in her cunt, that delicious peak seemed closer and more fulfilling than anything she'd experienced before. She gripped his backside firmly, and implored him to go _faster, harder_.

Not one to disappoint, Petyr followed every command, uttering unintelligibly about how tight she was, how wet she was. How absolutely perfect she felt wrapped around him.

Sansa was climbing her peak swiftly, and Petyr could feel the quake of her walls. He groaned harshly into the crook of her neck, and snaked his arms around her slender waist, flipping them deftly without breaking that contact that was slowly driving them to the brink. Sansa stared breathlessly at him in mild confusion. 

He gripped her hips, and braced his feet on the mattress. Petyr moaned in complaint at her stillness. "Fuck, I need to feel you move. Ride me, sweetling," he begged. 

Slowly, and with some guidance from his hands, she began to move, up and forward back and down, until they reached an agonizing pace. Petyr began to meet her hips on her descent, and the crack and slap fevered skin resounded in her ears. The mix of their physical exertions and the moans, groans, and whimpers of their pleasure was so base, so primal. Her nails dug into the flesh of his chest as that coiling heat within her swelled fit to burst. 

Petyr watched as Sansa's face went slack, and felt her cunt constrict around him as she rode to the precipice of her climax. God, he wanted to come, but held himself back, determined that she should come first. He reached down and ground his thumb on her clit, and witnessed as a shivering breath racked it's way from betwixt Sansa's beautifully parted lips. "That's it, baby. That's it. Let go, and come for me," he ordered. 

And at the rasping, labored words of his voice, Sansa did. Fire blazed down her spine, and scorched her from within. Wave after wave shooting down her limbs. It was like no orgasm she'd ever had before. It consumed her. 

The clench of her walls was more than enough to drive Petyr over the edge. He made to pull out, but Sansa's hips were locked so inexorably against his own, that he came with loud groan deep within her, back arching as he raised them both off the bed in its intensity.

Sansa collapsed against him, sated and exhausted. She couldn't contain the laugh that bubbled up, and Petyr eyed her suspiciously. 

"You know, most men might take laughter like that as a slight after giving a woman an orgasm."

"No, it's- It's just this whole night. To think that I thought sitting at home with a book would be the highlight of my evening." She smiled into his chest as she played with the hair there. 

Petyr rubbed his hands soothingly up and down her back. "Mmm. Who knew when I bumped into you that this would be the result."

Something in his voice made Sansa look up, and study his face. He smiled innocently back at her, and she shook her head. He could not have predicted this, surely.

_Could he?_

**Author's Note:**

> Don't be like Petyr and Sansa. Always use a condom, folks.


End file.
